


Coastline

by tokyonightskies



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Illnesses, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:37:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5304185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokyonightskies/pseuds/tokyonightskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Itachi gingerly places his hand atop Sasuke’s and asks in a kind voice, “Why did you kiss me?" </p>
<p>"Because.” He stops for a hairsplitting second, looks up at him and how the night sky cradles his head and his black hair. “Because when you were bandaging my wounds it felt like my skin would melt, even if you acted like your slightest touch would burn me. Don’t think I didn’t notice, but what you didn’t seem to realize was that I wanted to burn at that moment, Itachi.” Sasuke licks his lips and whispers, “Still do." </p>
<p>There was an implicit don’t reject me thrown underneath the actual statement. His little brother’s eyes are alight with hope when Itachi doesn’t turn away from him as if this was permission to kiss him again and again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coastline

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my Seaside!verse wherein Sasuke and Itachi ran away from everything together after what was supposed to be their final fight, so basically a what-if-they-eloped?!fic. Originally three parts, but fit better as one.

.

From an eagle’s point of view there’s a jagged pattern to how the sea crashes into the coast, how the waves overlap with the beach and how the white foam cuts into the wet sand. They’re sitting in the dunes, barefoot. From their point of view, things are smoother, more subtle in their transition from land to sea to horizon. Sasuke’s fingertips linger over the back of his hand. He fills his sick lungs with fresh air and turns his head to regard his little brother. Sunlight reflects on his profile and casts a shadow along the slope of his nose and the underside of his bottom lip. It highlights the clean bandages around his forehead and the glossiness of his dark hair. The sight of those bandages bring forth memories about what should’ve been his last fight.

He grabs onto a handful of sand when he balls a fist and it slips effortlessly through the cracks in between his fingers.

“What’s the matter?” Sasuke inquires as he settles from his relaxed position into a more alert one, as he seems to search for an unusual chakra pattern.

He merely shakes his head and mutters, “Nothing.” His voice comes across as if he hasn’t had a sip of water in days. He scrapes his throat and offers a private smile before continuing, “I was lost in thought, little brother.”

“About?”

His fingertips ease his hand back open, trace the lifeline across his palm. He stares into his little brother’s expressive and wide eyes. What he wouldn’t do to be able to say what’s on the forefront of his mind, the tip of his tongue. You, in the morning when we were dressing our wounds. You, in the living room saturated in afternoon sunlight, reading. You, first and foremost. You, Sasuke, always.

Itachi gently takes his hand in his and replies that he was contemplating the sunset. It’s so strange to be able to do this without repercussions. Here they can reforge their sibling relationship one day at a time for as long as his health allows them. When they first stumbled upon this cabin, they were still so unaccustomed to each other and above everything so exhausted, so hurt, so ingrained to be distrustful of the other’s movements. He had tried to be as delicate as possible when dressing his little brother’s wounds.

When Sasuke flinched at the skin contact, Itachi had whispered that he was done hurting him, that he would promise to protect him, that he didn’t deserve this second chance. You don’t have to forgive me but please let me help you. They were both aware of the tremor in his voice, the trembling of his hands as they touched his little brother’s skin reverently. Neither mentioned the other’s tears, but they saw them all the same.

It’s been a week now and they’ve fallen into a routine. Itachi busies himself with breakfast while Sasuke grinds the medicinal herbs and makes his older brother tea. They talk hours on end, about everything. They make trips to the nearby village every two days for supplies. Sometimes they argue and it takes much willpower on both sides not to lose themselves to the familiarity of standing on opposite sides, of resorting to violence.

“You’re being secretive again, aniki.” He chides as he delves his free hand into the sand and tries to scoop up scallop shells. They both watch the sand fall down his hand and wrist while a broken shell remains on his open palm.

Itachi squeezes his hand and chuckles lowly. He deactivates his Sharingan as the sun is almost swallowed whole by the sea surface. He can feel little jolts on his retina as if someone’s repeatedly stabbing him with a needle and he’s also a bit lightheaded. His eyesight has weakened significantly and one of the first purchases in the village they made was a pair of glasses for him. Sasuke carefully wipes away the sleek trail of blood on his cheek. He can feel the grains of sand stuck to his little brother’s fingertips.

“You promised you were done hiding from me.” Sasuke whispers. His fingertips brush over the furrow along his cheek.

He responds with a hint of caution, “I am, Sasuke.”

“You weren’t really thinking about the sun. You weren’t even looking. You were looking at me.” He presses on as his thumb tenderly traces the outline of his upper lip, the corners of his mouth. He’s so much closer than before.

It’s suddenly so much more difficult to draw breath. His feet turn cold when the wind picks up. Above them the dark evening sky expands onto the breaking point at the horizon, where there’s still a pallette of pinks and purples and light reds. There too, the sea still has streaks of warm sunlight on the waves. Itachi only sees Sasuke, but not with painstaking precision. With his weakened eyesight, the sharp structure of his little brother’s face is mellowed out, softer.

Itachi croaks out, “Don’t.” He feels Sasuke’s thumb brush below his bottom lip and he turns his head, prepares to stand upright. He lets go of his hand.

“Why not?” There’s stubbornness in his voice, impatience and irritation too. They’re both upright now, toes buried in the cool sand.

Personal objections ( _i don’t deserve you, i don’t want to taint you, i won’t hurt you anymore. i promised._ ) rush to the forefront of his mind, but he can’t bring himself to vocalize them. His silence upsets his little brother even further. Sasuke grabs onto his wrist and he kicks the sand around when he surges forwards. It’s enough to trigger his reflexes and he yanks his arm backwards to upset Sasuke’s balance. His right foot settles unto the unsteady ground; the wind skirts around their shirts, tugs at the hem of their shirts and their hair for a one-sided game of tag. When they stare at each other’s faces, their eyes bleed into red.

Sasuke lunges first – _he always does_ , Itachi parries but he underestimated how firmly the grip on his wrist was. His little brother slams into him with all his weight and then some, knocks the wind out of him as they tumble to the ground. He wraps his other arm around Sasuke’s neck and forces him to roll under him, tries to pin him down into the sand. It settles into the wrinkles of his trousers, it settles into Sasuke’s clothes and sticks to the underside of his elbows. Everything darkens around them as early night arrives in gradations; shades of murkier blue. 

“Why.. Not?” Sasuke asks, looking up at him, enveloped by the sand and his tousled hair and Itachi’s forearm at the base of his neck. There’s nothing fragile about his voice, even if the question comes across as deceptively vulnerable. 

Itachi attempts to regain his composure, aware of how he looks: with flared nostrils and wide-blown eyes and an open mouth, gasping. His side-swept bangs stuck to his temples and the underside of his cheekbones. He wants to caress Sasuke’s pale face with his free hand to soothe him, but doesn’t dare to touch him so intimately. Afraid to give him more ideas. 

He rasps, “You’re probably projecting.” His mind is reeling with theories, to circumvent the only logical conclusion into one he could accept himself. If Sasuke really loved him, he would have to scoop out all the darkness Itachi buried into himself, all the deceit and guilt and pain. White never remains white when it has come in contact with something else. “The intensity of your emotions towards me confuse you.”  _You can’t be in love with me, because I have ruined you. I am ruining you._

_I’m done hurting you, little brother._

His little brother squirms and wiggles underneath him and he drives a knee between his legs. The bandages around his forehead are coming undone. Their eyecontact doesn’t break, but Sasuke’s eyes become hooded, half-lidded and he raises himself up. He presses a kiss to Itachi’s mouth, chaste and desperate and quick. It’s like the floodgates opened. ((There’s the sound of the sea crashing into the coast.)) Itachi follows his head back down to the sand and kisses him back. Sasuke brings his hand to nestle into his hair and mess up his ponytail. He doesn’t mind the weight of his older brother on him, no he welcomes him whole.

They break apart and his voice is hoarse when he apologizes, “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have.”

Sasuke smirks smugly and pushes his head back down for another kiss. His sorry is stifled by the pliance of his little brother’s lips. The wind keeps shaving off the tops of the dunes. White sand forms a tangible layer over their skin and their clothes. 

. 

Their cabin has a small porch with an overhang at the back and it looks out over the manmade embankments and the dunes. With the wind blowing from the southeast, the wooden panelling of the floor always gets covered by the dry sand. There’s a sliding door that leads directly to their bedroom. Itachi settles his palms onto the wooden railing as he listens to the muffled sounds of something being dragged around from inside. Steam wafts from the cup of green tea he placed on the railing and dissipates into the chilly night air. It grows silent inside after the hollow thud of something being dropped onto the floor. Footfalls then, coming closer and eventually the soft rattling of the wooden framework of the door as it slides open. 

Sasuke stands next to him and pushes the flat of his hand innocuously to Itachi’s lower back. It’s not heavy, but the intent of the action weighs like a stone. 

After they had returned from their sightseeing trip, Itachi had evaded most physical contact after redressing the bandages around his little brother’s forehead. He had almost dropped the book he was reading when Sasuke announced he wanted to shove their futons together, that he wanted to share a bed. Their living room only had two lamps so the nuances of Sasuke’s determined expression were cloaked in soft light and harsh shadow. Itachi carefully put his book down on his lap and took time in choosing his words. Thanks to his new glasses, he could clearly see the assertiveness in Sasuke’s stance: the rising and falling of his chest, the taut line of his shoulders and how he rooted his feet onto the floor, like he couldn’t be budged. Itachi had resigned himself to the fact that the kisses were a one time thing only, even if he couldn’t quite convince himself that he would  _stop_  Sasuke if he kissed him again. 

His ribcage became too constricting of the rhythmical movement of his lungs when he tried to pick apart the situation and his little brother and himself too. As if in the hollow behind his sternum all this darkness he collected with his past actions and emotions, was spreading inside of him, like his illness. As if it would eventually spread to Sasuke too. He observes his brother and wonders if it hadn’t already overtaken him too. Itachi is afraid that whenever he touches Sasuke, the boy would lose some of his luster, like exquisite lacquerware tends to do. He has already taken so much and everything he has to give would never amount to the unattainable  _enough_. So he had acquiesced to his brother’s demand with some reservation. 

“You should finish your tea before it gets cold, aniki.” Sasuke advises in a small voice. Itachi can feel the heat of Sasuke’s skin through the thinning material of his shirt. They hadn’t bought many new clothes in the village aside from some essentials. It’s something he intends to remedy after they’ve earned some more money. 

His little brother presses his cheek to his upper arm and leans into him not unlike a cat would nuzzle your calf for attention. This will be the first time they share a bed in years. He brings the cup to his lips and takes a small sip, unsure whether he should pet his brother atop his head or not. 

He looks down at him and murmurs gently, “It is very delicious. Did you add a hint of lemon, Sasuke?“ 

It’s bizarre to witness how he perks up and his face lights up at the praise. It’s a stab to his guts, accompanied also by a light flutter of his stomach when Itachi sees how happy something small like this could make him. Whether it’s the compliment itself or the person who gives the compliment that makes Sasuke so happy is a notion Itachi doesn’t want to think about. This darkness is like a sponge, it would soak every little detail up and take every inch of space it can reach. 

"Yes, I thought you might like it.” He says as he leans in closer again and playfully touches the tip of his nose to Itachi’s jaw. 

The urge to recoil is there, palpable in how he tenses up at the tender gesture. Itachi takes another sip and mutters lowly a question he’s been pondering about. “What am I to you now, precisely?" 

His little brother removes his hand from his lower back. His eyebrows furrow together and the left corner of his mouth twitches in confusion. He takes a deep breath and bends over to lean upon the low wooden railing. Some sand gets blown onto the floor and over their bare feet. They don’t take notice, but there’s some subconscious awareness of their surroundings, a trait ingrained in them from childhood. 

Sasuke begins to speak, "You are..” His frown becomes more intense and he corrects himself, “I hated you  _for so long_. I wanted your blood on my hands. I wanted you dead for everything you did to me. I wanted to bury every happy memory I had of you and.. and you along with them. And when I came so close to killing you, I froze up when you started coughing blood.” He laughs but it sounds like a scoff. “I wish I could express what I felt then.”

Itachi concentrates on the smooth feeling of warmed ceramic under his fingertips as he skirts closer to him. 

“When you said that you had succeeded in your plan, I was confused. When I watched over you that evening as you were lying there, with all the  _blood_  … I raked my brain to figure out what you could’ve meant. I asked myself what  _I_  meant, as a person, as a shinobi. I was afraid.. I was afraid of losing you. That’s what I realized when I was tending to your wounds. You pulled through then and you explained _everything_  and I was…” Sasuke suddenly seems self-conscious of everything he was saying, as if he thinks that he’s just prattling on. It’s the first time since they were together that he talked this much in one go. His fingernails dig into the wood. 

“I was relieved because you were still  _my brother_. I will always be angry at what you did.. No, at what Konoha  _made_  you do, but you are still my older brother. You carried me home and looked for paw prints with me and helped me train. You were my goal. I centered my entire life around you, not just around killing you but also around surpassing you, following you, finding you. And now you’re sick and you’re going to die and I don’t want you to die, okay.  _I don’t want you to die._ ” His voice sounds too raw. He scrapes his throat and dips his head, making his bangs fall into his face.  

Itachi gingerly places his hand atop Sasuke’s and asks in a kind voice, “Why did you kiss me?" 

"Because.” He stops for a hairsplitting second, looks up at him and how the night sky cradles his head and his black hair. “Because when you were bandaging my wounds it felt like my skin would melt, even if you acted like your slightest touch would burn me. Don’t think I didn’t notice, but what you didn’t seem to realize was that I  _wanted_  to burn at that moment, Itachi.” Sasuke licks his lips and whispers, “Still do." 

There was an implicit  _don’t reject me_  thrown underneath the actual statement. His little brother’s eyes are alight with hope when Itachi doesn’t turn away from him as if this was permission to kiss him again and again. 

"Did you burn, little brother?” He prompts as if a ‘no’ was still somewhere in sight, as if a ‘no’ would turn this entire situation around and they could delve a pit in the sand and abandon all these emotions and temptations in there.

Sasuke grips him by the front of his shirt and some tea sloshes over the brim of the cup as he reflexively tries to escape, but soon enough he stills entirely. They’re scrutinizing each other again. His little brother leans in and those fingers curl tighter onto the mesh fabric of his shirt and his mouth is so impossibly close as he breathes out a  _yes_. Itachi doesn’t know where he found the willpower to resist kissing him but he somehow did. His fingers calmly pry Sasuke’s hand open.

Much is still left unsaid, but it’s undoubtedly  _there_  like the salt is in the ocean, like it is simply there in the water, not entirely a part of it, not entirely dissolved. Itachi rubs his thumb over his little brother’s knuckles.

“Let’s get some rest.”

The woodwork shakes when Itachi slides the door shut behind them and the wind bangs against the thick paper squares to come in too. He will need to sweep the porch tomorrow morning or the sand will cover everything in no time. He wants to go to the kitchen to put his teacup into the sink but Sasuke doesn’t want to let go of his hand and he’s told to leave the cup on the nightstand, to put some water in it if he’s so afraid of stains. The comment made him laugh for some reason.

.

His little brother looks so childlike in the morning sunlight, entangled in the white linen sheet and sleeping on his side with an arm propped under his cheek. Itachi ghosts his fingers over his profile: over his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, the welt of his lips, the dip of his chin, the column of his throat and his adam’s apple. Sasuke instinctively stirs, scrunches up his features. His eyelids flutter and he blinks slowly. Itachi smiles but doesn’t touch him, only settles his back against the wall as he sits upright on their shoved-together futons. 

Their bedroom is pale and clean, aside from the stray empty teacup on the floor on Itachi’s side of the bed and the bottle of water next to it. It doesn’t throw the harmony of the room off balance, but it’s a small furrow, like a wrinkle in a strip of silk. The room is also barely furnished, stripped to the bare essentials, saturated in white light. Sand crystals stick to the underside of the door. Sasuke groans lowly and squints his eyes shut and opens them again; he pushes himself on all-fours and then sits on his knees, looking at his older brother.

“What time is it?” He asks, eyes and voice full of sleep. As he did when he was a child, he rubs his fist against the corner of his right eye.

Itachi hums pleasantly, drowning out the waves of nausea down his gut. His illness fights tooth and claw and nail for his body. He responds that he doesn’t have a clue. All Itachi did since he woke up was watching over his little brother while he slept.

His little brother regards him with a stunned expression before he pins his gaze to something in the left corner and frowns, presumably mulling things over in his head. Itachi doesn’t want to pry so he contents himself by silently fixing his loose ponytail. His hair spills down from the elastic and over his shoulders. The humidity in the air prompts him to put his hair in a bun or else he has trouble sleeping from the heat. His neck gets all prickly from sweat. His fingers adjust his ponytail automatically, well-rehearsed in the motion. Sasuke reaches out and brushes the strands away from the juncture of Itachi’s neck and shoulder. 

There’s a pause, a hitch in his automatisms as Sasuke slowly drags his thumb along the neckline of his white sleeping shirt to show off more skin. The outline of his slender shoulder and a part of his collar bone get exposed and unconsciously, his little brother traps his bottom lip between his teeth, lets go just as quickly. Their gazes catch and Sasuke rubs the pad of his thumb down on Itachi’s shoulder. 

“What would you like for breakfast?” Itachi asks and it sounds like he has several cotton wads stuck down his throat. 

Sasuke gathers both of his hands in his lap and cranes his neck right and left and right again, to get the stiffness out of his system. He’ll probably ask to spar after breakfast. 

His tongue flicks out between the seal of his mouth and sweeps over his upper lip. Itachi resists the urge to activate his Sharingan, to be able to see every small gesture Sasuke makes in this moment. 

“I don’t really care. Whatever you want to make is good enough for me.” There’s some forced nonchalance in the way he says this, in how his gaze rests almost restlessly on Itachi’s mouth, on his chin. His fingers twitch upon his kneecap, as if they can’t steady themselves.

Itachi smiles lightly in response and murmurs that they still have some leftover  _soba_  and he could make  _okonomiyaki_ if he likes. Their refrigerator is stocked and he can always supervise with the cooking equipment. Sasuke doesn’t give much feedback, seemingly still struggling with something. His left index finger incessantly taps down on his kneecap. Itachi gets up gracefully, without any stumbling on the rather soft futon, but before he goes to their wardrobe to change, he cradles his little brother’s head with both hands and kisses his forehead.

Instantly Sasuke clutches his hands and keep his palms pressed to his cheeks.  _Don’t let go._ Sunlight filters through the shoji paper of the sliding door, falls skewed onto the floor in white blotches, like inversed ink drops. Itachi feels like sinking back onto his knees and pushing himself against Sasuke and pushing Sasuke down onto the futon. He feels like sinking into Sasuke. It’s an all-consuming feeling, roaming free in the hollow behind his sternum until it’s clamored its way up his throat and colored the inside of his mouth black.

“Can’t you just make a rice omelet?” Sasuke asks him softly, in between staccato breaths. 

He replies rather dazed, “Of course, if that’s what you want.” – His eyes fall onto his little brother’s mouth. He has to squint to make out the defining contours of his lips, of the corners, of the smooth bow-like curve of his upper lip.

It’s only after Itachi pressed a soft kiss to the right corner of Sasuke’s mouth, that he discovers his hands weren’t even held anymore.

.

Sasuke squats down to pet the flock of cats rubbing the back of their heads and their curved spines against his calves. One of them, a white giant with spots of ginger, fondly presses its pink nose against Sasuke’s left kneecap and contently squints its large greenish eyes when the palm of his hand roofs its head. The afternoon sunlight reflects on the dry flat stones of the street, outlined by the shadows of the triangular thatched roofs of the fishermen huts. The smell of the sea is less poignant here, still unmistakably in the air, but more as an afterthought; something that lingers behind fresh fish, the burning oil in a wok pan, the begonia’s for sale at the local flower shop, the roasted peanuts and the _okonomiyaki_ they’re making further down the street. Sasuke offers the cat a glimpse of a smile as he scratches it under its chin.

“He’s quite gentle.” Remarks the elderly woman next to the wooden rack full of medicinal herbs in front of the store window. She’s snipping the yellow blossoms off a potted safflower plant with a pair of small scissors.

(( _snip snip snip,_ the blades open and close quickly, shifting with a silver gleam.))

Turning away from the bags of dried  _suikazura_ leaves, Itachi casts a glance at his younger brother, subconsciously touching the frame of his reading glasses, and answers kindly, “Yes.. Yes he is.”

She collects the flowers in her broad palm and sometimes strokes some of the petals with the tip of her index to determine their smoothness. “Are you two considering to settle here, permanently?” This question comes with a touch of motherly concern and she’s quick to add in her gravelly voice that there are hardly any youngsters here anymore.

“We’re a village of fishermen and pearl divers, mostly.” She says with a deep sigh as she puts the flower heads into her woven basket. The brim of her straw hat casts a shadow over her wrinkled face as she dips her head and starts pruning the stalk of a red date next to the wooden rack.

Itachi weighs two bags of lotus seeds in his hands and eventually puts back the one he held in his right hand on the shelf. It’s pleasant outside the shop, with a cool draft coming from the sea further down south of the main road. After their rice omelets, they decided to go out shopping for more supplies and clothes, but also to keep an eye out for work. He looks at Sasuke, who’s still occupying himself with the cats; a tomcat with glossy black fur paws playfully at Sasuke’s bare toes, while the ginger-spotted giant rubs the back of its neck under his knee. His little brother doesn’t seem to have enough hands to pet all of them and he’s constantly switching around to satisfy them. Itachi can’t help but smile at the sight before turning towards the elderly shopkeeper.

“I take it there won’t be much job opportunities for people like us?” He inquires politely, trying to keep their status as missing nin as obscure as possible. He knows the villagers must suspect as much about two young men who stumbled upon this remote rural area and stayed to lick their wounds, but there’s no reason to be explicit.

Her calloused hands still for a moment. For a moment he thinks he might’ve offended her, but she only tilts the brim of her straw hat up to look at him. Her face is wrinkled, but the apple of her cheeks are still bulb and healthy; they contrast nicely with her pale clothes and her white hair. Her mouth twists into a lopsided grin.

“Well, we’re a very peaceful village, as you might have noticed and we don’t  _necessarily_ have the means to combat…” She pauses here as she theatrically pretends to think about examples, prompting him to smile indulgently. “ _Bandits_  or  _pirates_ who destroy our old fishing boats.”

Itachi hums and responds calmly, “I understand completely, someone should offer themself to deal with such issues to the village council if they occur.”

“ _Smart boy_.” Comes the raspy compliment. The elderly woman busies herself with the red date stalk again, expertly cutting off small twigs with her scissors. “They gather together every evening in the first manor on the main road. At sunset.” She adds the last part in clarification.

He offers her a nod, even if she isn’t looking at him anymore, and turns back to a variety of herbal tea mixes. They’re stacked according to the colors of their handwritten labels and vary in size. There’s ginger root tea, chrysanthemum tea with dried wolfberries in the mix, hibiscus, cinnamon,  _kuzuyu_ , roasted barley for making  _mugicha_  and much more. His first pick is a sizeable bag of the kuzuyu. Footsteps make him look away from the rack and even the elderly woman tips her straw hat back to look at the newcomer.

Sasuke comes to stand close to him, so close that their bare elbows bump together. He quietly takes the lotus seeds and the tea mix from Itachi’s hands, giving him the opportunity to browse with both hands. Itachi casts a look over his shoulder and sees how the flock of cats are still there on the street; some are lazily sunbathing, some are licking between the plush pads of their front paws and some are roughhousing with each other. His little brother pulls at the sleeve of his shirt and nods to a lone package of black elderberry tea. The scribbled writing on the label underline how it’s good for the respiratory system.

“Thank you, Sasuke.” He murmurs sincerely as he takes the tea mix from him, but Sasuke doesn’t let go and only shakes his head stubbornly.

He mutters, “I’ll carry it, don’t worry.”

“It’s not too heavy for me.” Itachi rebukes, but his tone of voice suggests amusement instead of a scolding. He has this smile that takes Sasuke right back to their childhood, to pleading for shuriken-throwing lessons and wrapping his arms around his brother’s middle in greeting.

Sasuke stacks the tea mixes onto each other and contents himself by watching how Itachi compares the vitamin pills on sale and chooses the sweetest flavor of cough medicine.

“You should make him daikon radishes with honey if his throat is acting up.” The elderly woman advises before she moves to stand at full height and pats herself on her lower back to ease the strains on her body.

He grunts lowly, looks down on the various packages in his arms for a quick moment as he mulls the suggestion over, and eventually thanks her for her concern. She grins at him, showing off the black gaps where teeth should’ve been, gathers her woven basket and shuffles back into the store with the basket hanging on her elbow and the pruning scissors in her hand. The hollow clunking of bamboo on bamboo resounds when she opens the door and again when she closes the door behind her. Some adverts are stuck to the windows. Itachi picks up a bottle of vitamin pills, a small bag of cough drops for half the price and once they’re inside, some spices in  paper bundles as well. Sasuke remains pretty adamant on carrying the plastic bags, making the shopkeeper chortle slyly behind the knuckles of her hand.

Itachi curtly touches his shoulder and presses his forehead to his temple when they stand outside. The price tags of the potted plants flutter as the wind picks up again. It’s still sunny out and the weather doesn’t look like it’s about to change so they decide to go to the small food court next to the flower shop across the street. Sharing a carton plate of okonomiyaki with soba, they watch how Sasuke’s flock of strays circle their legs in hope of scraps and occasionally rub their muzzles against their ankles, mewling lowly.

“They’re really fond of you.” Itachi remarks, leaning against the wooden counter of the stand.

The sound of oil being drizzled on the hot grill is almost deafening from close by, a hissing  _szzt_ , that continues softly as the seafood is added and sizzling along. The chef isn’t the most talkative type and concentrates silently on his work. His white apron is smudged with mayonnaise and okonomiyaki sauce, with flour and spots of chicken stock.

Sasuke feeds the black tomcat a string of soba. “I think they’re just hungry.” He replies, looking at his older brother from the corner of his eyes. He gingerly touches his fingertips to the cat’s ears.

Itachi smirks slightly as he drops a piece of the okonomiyaki onto the ground. The two tabbies closest to him wildly throw themselves onto the offering. There’s a scuffle, where they violently claw at each other’s noses before the fastest snatches the piece and hurries off.

“If the cats are bothering you, I got a broom around here.” The chef grumbles in annoyance, with the coastal accent creeping into his sentence and with his face wet from sweat.

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.” Itachi says quickly, before his little brother could lash out. He rests his hand on Sasuke’s lower arm and adds, “You could give them some leftovers?”

He’s scraping off some green onion rings that got stuck on the hot plate and turned black, as he says,” Well how do you think they got fat in the first place? Everyone spoils them rotten.”

Itachi chuckles lowly and looks around for a moment. It’s really quiet around here, tranquil with its empty street, its old-fashioned thatched houses, its small population. He feels Sasuke leaning into him and the lack of hesitation from his little brother’s part to touch him so casually still manages to form knots into his stomach. It brings his thoughts back to this morning, when he almost kissed his little brother on the mouth, at the blissful expression on Sasuke’s face, at the unyielding skin stretched over his jaw line, at the half-lidded eyes. He shouldn’t have stayed inside their bedroom, he realizes now as the memory floods him inside out; watching how Sasuke pulled off his dark loose sleeping shirt and stretched his arms above his head, watching the muscles in his back. Mounts of pale skin, bracketed between the black of his hair and the black of his pajama bottoms.

Sasuke crouches to offer the ginger-spotted giant the last piece of the okonomiyaki. The cat gracefully accepts the gifts and swipes at Sasuke’s fingertips with its sandpaper tongue. The chef bristles at the display and mutters something about foreigners, turning his back at them as he continues to work. Itachi observes how the cat licks Sasuke’s oily fingers clean, feeling not completely at ease with himself, but somehow more at peace than he’s been in years. It’s still so difficult to phantom that this is his second chance, that  _Sasuke has given him this second chance_. His lungs constrict painfully and his shoulders hunch forwards as the coughing starts; he draws into himself and slaps his palm in front of his mouth, his glasses almost slip off the bridge of his nose, his whole chest shakes along the motions, and the coughs are so dry the inside of his throat grows irritated. There’s no blood, but no mucus either and it feels as if someone’s using a blunt kunai to shave the flesh off the walls of his throat.

“Get my brother some water!” Sasuke orders the chef angrily, the sudden outburst scaring the cats around their feet and making them back off a bit.

He feels how his little brother puts his hands all over him; his right palm between his sharp and bony scapula, snuffing out the knotty vertebrae down the trail of his spine, and his other hand, running down the length of his upper arm, fingertips curved over the point of his elbow. Sasuke only lets go of him to grab the plastic cup of water that the chef hurried to fill and thrusts it into his hand. It’s a foreign weight in his hand, cool and slippery, but he brings the cup to his mouth and gulps down the cold water. His hacking lessens, but his chest’s still heaving as if he’s going to throw everything back up. Water drips from the corners of his open mouth.

“Are you okay?” His little brother wonders, looking at him wide-eyed, with both of his hands on his arm,  _grabbing grasping._

Itachi gives him a shaky nod and wipes his chin with the back of his wrist. He pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and feigns a smile, consoling. “It’s okay now. It’s okay.” He puts the empty cup on the counter of the stand and thanks the chef. The grip of his fingers reflects almost darkly in the crumbled white of the plastic.

“You should get that checked out.” The chef comments; his expression somewhere between genuine concern and disbelief, the furrows between his brows wedged deeper in his suntanned skin.

Sasuke harrumphs, snatches the bags with one hand and starts to tug on his brother’s arm to get him moving. “We’re going back. You need to rest.”

Some of the cats dare to come back; one of the two tabbies, the black tomcat, the ginger-spotted giant, while some of the others are gauging the situation from their spot in the sun middle of the street, waiting with curled tails and squinted eyes. Itachi still has this strange sensation down his throat, a sort of fluttery and irritated feeling that didn’t subside with the gulp of water. He rubs the base of his neck gingerly and swallows down some spittle for good measure, but his throat remains raw inside. It’s not  _that_  painful so he doesn’t see the necessity in lying down.

“We were going to buy clothes, remember? Sasuke?” His tone of voice carries the aftereffects of the coughing fit, coming out a bit more croaked and hoarse than he would’ve liked.

“There’s only a tailor around here and that’s going to take too long.” Comes the quick rebuttal, he has a conviction of steel to match the grip on his brother’s wrist. Itachi can’t help but smirk at his little brother’s stubborn streak.

The village is fairly traditional in makeup: there are patches of peanuts behind the houses seeing as those are the only plants successfully cultivated in this sandy region, the docks further down in the bay a few miles from their cabin, the center with its small shops and marketplace, the main road that goes further landward, and the many thatched huts. Itachi’s come across dozens of small villages like this one in his time with the Akatsuki. Something close to nostalgia prompts him to wonder how Kisame is doing, missing his heavy footfall next to him, his long shadow reaching past his.

He draws his arm back, stopping them both in their tracks. Sasuke looks beautiful as he stands suspended mid-motion, his head turned to look at him and the sunlight falling on his right cheek, the hinge of his jaw, parts of his throat. “We’ll just buy a few things, Sasuke.” Here, he offers a slight smile, “Afterwards I can go rest.”

There’s a frown on his younger brother’s features, when he mulls this over. He’s still hesitant to let go of Itachi’s wrist, holding onto him in instinct, almost afraid to let go. Itachi can relate to the sentiment, more than anyone knows.

“ _Fine_.” He finally concedes, “But I’m taking care of dinner tonight.” There’s no room for any arguments and Itachi wonders if he could just reach out for him, ruffle his hair, touch his face,  _kiss him like last evening._ If it would be truly as easy as it looks. Chase the shadow off Sasuke’s left cheek with his fingertips.

His fingers clench in an automatism, a follow-up to the thoughts he’s having. Itachi nods at him and smiles at him and motions to the other direction of this two-way street. They start walking again, shoulder to shoulder and the back of Sasuke’s hand occasionally brushing against his. It’s only when they pass the flower shop that Itachi reaches out to hold his little brother’s hand. Since it’s the beginning of the flowering season for begonia’s, the store has put a rack stacked with multi-colored examples for sale outside. The ground around the rack and even the welcoming rug is showered with soft pink and yellow and orange petals. Sasuke twines their fingers together, watching how his brother cranes his neck to stare at the display in front of the flower shop for a little while longer. The tailor shop is five houses further down the street and they’ve only been inside once to buy the bare necessities: something to sleep in and a few new sets of underwear. Things that were readily available and didn’t really require measurements.

When they enter the tailor shop, they’re greeted by a smooth melodious voice, a voice that wouldn’t be associated with a tall, gruff-looking sixty-something year old man. He comes from the backroom to take his place at the counter and puts his palms down on it with a loud *smack*.  Sasuke remains impassive at the excitement on the man’s face while Itachi acknowledges him with a polite  _good afternoon._

“Ah I remember you two.” He barks out with a gigantic grin almost splitting his face in two halves. “Finally getting some fitting done,  _eh?_ ”

He looks like one of those  _maneki neko_ ’s, Itachi thinks to himself sizing the tailor up as he’s trained to do. Unlike the rest of the villagers Itachi’s seen up until now, he wears a  _yukata_ in dark gray, with a sober stripe motif. He stands in contrast with the bright colors of the rolls of fabric on the shelves behind him.

“No, we just want to buy some pants and shirts if you have any lying around.” Sasuke corrects, keeping a stoic façade. His fingertips drum softly against Itachi’s palm.

He rounds the counter and motions them to look at the folded shirts on the wooden shelves against the left wall. Underneath there’s a single iron bar with trousers made from all sorts of fabric slung over it. There are several display cases close to the walls, showing off the tailor’s  _obi_ , folded  _haori_ , children’s yukata, but also curtains and pieces of embroidery. One display cabinet contains small patches of a fishermen boat’s sail, leather purses, and sandal straps. They’re positioned so that the customer can clearly see the stitching, the color of thread used, the almost signature pattern of his needle. They’re still holding hands, but the tailor either hasn’t noticed, too caught up in potential sales, or hasn’t commented, for the very same reason as the other option. Itachi brushes his fingertips over Sasuke’s knuckles, tries to be casual about the gesture even if his breath remains sucked between his lips.

“These are all my ready-mades.” The tailor tells them as he takes a white sweatshirt from one of the shelves and keeps it in front of him, holding the shirt by the shoulder line. “I don’t have much variation in size, I’m afraid.”

“I’m certain we’ll find something, thank you.” Itachi responds kindly, staring at the length of the sleeves and the wideness of the hemline and how it seems to drag on a bit at the back. It looks really comfortable and he wants to touch the material between his fingertips to feel how soft or coarse it is. “Can we try them on?” He asks, feeling the fluttery feeling in his throat return.

He nods enthusiastically and points to the doorway where he emerged from, covered by long strips of curtains that clash in color and motif. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” He says with an earnest expression as he hands the sweatshirt over to Itachi.

Sasuke puts down the plastic bags and lets go of his hand to browse through the trousers, but he still stands close to his older brother, back to back almost. Taking a pair of capri pants from the iron bar, he holds them against his hips and tries to estimate if they’d fit on sight alone. The pant legs drag downwards to his ankles and he hitches the waistline up a bit higher, not really wanting to venture to the backroom and actually try them on. Itachi smiles when he sees this and almost forgets the prickly sensation down his throat. It demands to be unforgotten however, and he coughs a few times; his coughs sounding raspy and painful even.

“ _Aniki?_ ” His little brother asks, looking over his shoulder at him in worry. Itachi shakes his head, dry-heaving a bit.

He catches his breath, eyes closed, the sweatshirt threatening to slip from his hands. After a short moment, he mutters, “I’m fine. It feels like any other cold, Sasuke.” His gaze falls on the tailor, who pretends to busy himself with rearranging the sashes in one of the display cabinets. Continuing quietly, “As long as I’m not coughing blood, I can go on in public.”

“I’m not gonna let it come that far. The moment you feel even a bit uncomfortable, we’re leaving.” It’s sounds much more like a decree than anything else and Itachi feels oddly humbled by the protectiveness in his brother’s voice.

Itachi puts the sweatshirt back on a shelf and positions himself behind Sasuke, looks down over his shoulder at the slacks he’s holding and gently grabs onto his hands, guides them to rest a bit above his hip bones. “These are a size or two too big.” He whispers, in a voice that’s deeper than before. He could drag the tip of his nose down Sasuke’s ear, could murmur a  _thank you_ , could push forwards so his chest would stumble into his little brother’s back,  _connect_.

“I don’t care, they look comfortable.” There’s a tremor sneaking along the  _they_ , followed by a soft scrape of the throat before the  _look_.  _Comfortable_ is spoken a bit louder, to thug the attention away from the tremble, like it never was there in the first place.

– _Sasuke leans into him, but barely; a soft press to his brother’s crotch. The grip his fists have on the waistline of the pants tightens. He cranes his neck, **exposes**  his neck under the pretense of looking at the other trousers hanging there over the bar, color-coded._

“You could try them on, but I suggest you pick a size smaller.” Itachi advises calmly, trying to keep the tailor in his peripheral. “For comfort’s sake.” He finishes, before sweeping the button of his nose against the shell of Sasuke’s ear. In an instant, there’s distance between them once more and Itachi seems interested by a collection of loose shirts on a shelf left to him.

Tension still sizzles between them and Sasuke casts a sullen glance at his older brother before picking up three more pairs of pants from the bar; the color scheme is pretty monochrome, ranging from light gray to black. He doesn’t care much for a particular style and whatever doesn’t fit him would surely fit with a belt or would fit his brother,  _maybe_. They don’t waste much time on choosing clothes. Baggy shirts in neutral earthen colors, a few long-sleeved sweatshirts for fall and winter to come, mostly loose trousers, things that are easy to maneuver in, to move around in. They both don’t neglect the option that they may have to drop everything here and run away again.

After half an hour, they’re in front of the store, carrying their plastic bags and boxes with the clothing they just bought – the tailor insisted they’d put everything in thin boxes as not to wrinkle the shirts and pants immediately and he tied them closed expertly, with red ribbons. Itachi suspects it’s more for show than anything practical, but he accepts the gesture with a kind smile. As they walk back to their cabin, he spots the medicinal woman peering at them from the window of her shop and he would’ve waved if he could. Two of Sasuke’s strays stalk behind them all the way to the edge of the village, but hesitate to follow further, instead opting to scale the wall and look over at the open road, at their retreating backs.

“I’ll put everything away.” Sasuke murmurs when they’ve placed everything on their dinner table. “Go rest.”

Itachi gives him a nod, a press of his lips to the forehead, fingers that linger perhaps too long for propriety across the expanse of a soft cheek. “ _Thank you_.”

.

Somewhere in the haze of his subconscious he’s aware of the added weight on the sofa, hard-pressed against his side. Itachi stirs and blinks slowly, has to get used to the blurred ceiling and the black spots in front of his eyes. They fade eventually, but the keenness of his sight remains softened, as if someone pulled a sheet of plastic over his eyes and just left it there.

“Are you feeling better?” Sasuke mumbles beside him, curled up like a cat at his side.

Itachi settles down again and carefully maneuvers himself onto his side so they’re facing each other. There’s hardly any space between them.

“I am..” He whispers, sweeps his tongue over his bottom lip, but it doesn’t do much. “My mouth’s a little dry.. But it’s okay.” He places his hand on his little brother’s shoulder as he says the last part, because he had already started to get up.  _Stay._

Sasuke hums and trails soft skittish fingertips over his exposed collar bone, drapes his right leg over Itachi’s waist to slot their hips flush together, pushing out every distance, every hairbreadth.  _He’s half-hard._ He presses even closer.

“Is this… I mean.” His little brother doesn’t usually stumble over his words, either he says something or he doesn’t. There aren’t many in-betweens for him usually.

Itachi settles a hesitant hand over the handle of his hip to hold him still. He can feel Sasuke’s breath on his chin.

“I just want.” Sasuke begins again, dipping his head so his forehead brushes against Itachi’s chin; his long bangs tickle against his neck. “I want to do things to you.” His fingertips press down the supple crook of his neck.

“ _Sex_.” Itachi clarifies, more to the living room than to the both of them. Sasuke’s leg doesn’t feel oppressive, sliding up and down his flank, his ass, his upper leg.

He lets up on the grip he has on Sasuke’s hip and asks softly, trying to sound as encouraging and non-threatening as possible, “Don’t you think this is all going to fast?”

Sasuke cranes his neck so they’re looking face-to-face again; his gaze falls from Itachi’s eyes to Itachi’s dry and chapped lips for a split-second. He says that  _he wouldn’t be doing any of this if he wasn’t sure of it._  This certainty in his little brother’s voice, in his little brother’s expression has always been more charming than Itachi was willing to admit,  _before_.

He grinds their crotches together experimentally and Itachi can’t stifle the surprised and needy gasp slipping from his mouth. Sasuke interprets it for what it is: a  _concession_. His fingers clench the fabric of Sasuke’s loose shirt when he rocks into him with his hard cock, so desperate for more friction. Itachi tilts his head forwards and his little brother brings his fingers all the way up to the sharp angle of his downturned chin. His thumb fondly brushes the hinge of a jaw before he leans in to kiss him open-mouthed. Itachi presses his palm flat on Sasuke’s flank and bucks into him reflexively.

He keeps his eyes wide-open when he gently sucks Sasuke’s bottom lip into his mouth and rakes over it with his teeth and even softly pulls it, just to get used to the texture, to the sensation, to Sasuke’s every small reaction. His little brother responds by fisting a hand at the hairs of the base of his head and keeps him steady; the grip isn’t particularly painful, but he  _can feel_  the roots of his hairs there. Sasuke keeps rocking into him until he gets hard as well and their chins bump together and their teeth clank as the kiss gets messier and needier.

“Wait..” Itachi whispers, trying to shift his arm underneath Sasuke’s torso to drag him closer in an embrace. It’s difficult to move comfortably on the couch and he has to hold onto his little brother to keep him from falling off the couch entirely. It’s enough to make him chuckle out loud.

Sasuke grumbles impatiently and delves his face against the side of Itachi’s neck and starts to nip at the skin there. He bites him at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, intent on leaving a red angry mark. Itachi moves the hand he had on his little brother’s hip downwards to trace the outline of his cock and even more down to the outline of his balls. They’re so entangled Itachi doesn’t even know where he begins and Sasuke ends, but the friction is  _just so_ good and when his little brother sucks some skin between his teeth, the initial hesitation in his touches dissolves. His fingertips press down feverishly on the base of Sasuke’s cock, rub their way up to the head.

“More.” His command comes out feeble, a ghost of a breath haunting against his collar bone; he feels the grip on his hair become more urgent. Sasuke keens lowly against his sternum when he palms his cock and grinds down on it with the heel of his palm.

It doesn’t take more than some fumbling and a bit more pressure for Sasuke to cum; the fingers holding onto Itachi’s hair are trembling and loosen their grip entirely, coming to rest on the sweaty skin of the back of his neck; his breathing is staccato-sharply punctuated, small gasps puffing hotly against Itachi’s clavicle; but he continues to rub himself against Itachi’s hand, to try and press against his hard cock.

“That’s enough..” His brother whispers as he resettles his hand on a hip, “That’s enough, Sasuke…”

“But..” It’s a weak protest, nipped in the bud with a kind glance, a caress on the bare skin stretched over the bone of his hip, exposed from a pushed-up shirt.

He feels the heat, of course; still nestled flush against the elastic band of his trousers, but he doesn’t want to get overwhelmed by  _this_. There’s still the darkness settled under the bridge of his sternum to be concerned with: how it threatens to spread and gnaw on his mind once he’s alone with his thoughts again. Sasuke carefully brushes the tip of his nose against his chin.

“Why do you want to rush into this?” Itachi asks of him softly, hoarsely.

His little brother scoffs, draws back to look at him and mutters, “What’s stopping us, now?”

The black-eyed fire that’s burned every bridge for  _him_ , because of  _him_ —it’s there on his little brother’s face and he doesn’t even need to see clearly to know it’s there. Itachi could hand out the same objections and hesitations he had when Sasuke first kissed him, but they’d be refuted easily and he’s _done_  telling lies. His own eagerness was an involuntary betrayal of his mind. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Aware of Sasuke’s weight on his arm, of Sasuke’s leg draped over his flank like he’s aware of his own body, of the extensions of it.

“I promised you I wouldn’t hurt you anymore, remember?” His voice takes on the same depth it had when he explained his scheme, low but with a rough and raw edge.

Sasuke comes to glare at him and bristles, “You  _aren’t hurtin—_ “

“Listen.  _Sasuke_ , please.” Itachi whispers as he chases the shadows off his little brother’s face with two silken fingertips. “Give us time to explore this.”

“So you’re not…  _Okay_.” His little brother sighs after the last word before beginning again, anew, “Tell me you want this too.” A pitiful feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth; a nudge in the right direction.

His chest feels heavy and he swallows reflexively; he dips his head forwards, his fingertips touching the long hairs of his bangs and following along them, and he breathes out that  _yes i want_ this,  _i want you too._ It’s strange how all the tension between them that’s been carefully built up-and-up comes stumbling down, and all of this in the sinking of Sasuke’s chest as he breathes out in relief. They can hear the sea crashing violently onto the shore outside and the gush of the wind as it bangs against the shoji paper of the door. Itachi’s low laughter resounds in the moderately furnished when his little brother urgently puts his mouth to his chin; moves to rake his teeth just a bit over the plush of a bottom lip.  

“Shouldn’t you go clean up?” He wonders as he draws back and hits the back of his head against the cushioned rest of the sofa. “I’ll go prepare you a bath.”

“I still have to make dinner.” Sasuke mutters tiredly.

Itachi hums in acknowledgement and inquires softly, stroking his brother’s cheek, “What are we having, then?”

“Daikon radishes.” He murmurs as he leans into the touch, “With honey.”

.

The mirror hanging above the sink is fogged up from the steam and the only sound in the bathroom is that of the water from the detachable showerhead. It runs down the drain in the floor, over the glimmering eggshell white tiles. Sasuke’s cum-stained underpants and loose slacks are dumped in the full sink to soak, and at the edges of the sink there’s some foam gathering as if it’s looking for a way out. There’s a low screech of the blue plastic seat when Sasuke shifts about and lifts up his left arm for Itachi to rinse him there. It’s a traditional bathroom in the sense that it’s somewhat detached from the rest of the cabin, bordered by a narrow corridor, but otherwise it’s modern enough. Ever since coming here, Itachi’s wondered who exactly used to live him, who took care of the upkeep, who abandoned this cabin to the mercy of the white sand.

Sasuke spreads his legs a bit, all the while gripping onto the plastic seat, his feet sprawled out in front of him. His mop of hair flattened, stuck in wet swipes to his temples, his forehead, his ears and the back of his neck, and the pubic hairs making up the happy trail down his belly button and the modest triangle around his cock, glimmer like gossamer underneath the bright lights hanging above the mirror. His head is dipped back, exposing the tender column of his throat to his older brother’s eyes. Itachi has his trousers rolled up around his knees, as if he’d just taken a walk along the coastline, with his feet in the wet sand.

He turns off the tap, clicks the showerhead back in place, grabs one of their washing cloths hung over the drying rack and a bar of rice bran soap, and saunters back over to his little brother. Water slowly sloshes down the drain. First Itachi rubs the soap between his little brother’s wet shoulder blades, then he swipes the washing cloth over the steps of his spine. Sasuke looks up at Itachi when he draws the washing cloth over his right shoulder, as if he’s trying to reassert the lines that make up his body. Some strands of hair curl around the frame of his face, unbothered as he was to retie his ponytail. With a wet fingertip Sasuke tries to push them behind the arch of his ear, but his brother shakes his head playfully, offering him a smile. Soon enough he takes his hand and cleans in between his fingers, goes up his forearm, the dip of his elbow and back up to his shoulder.

“What are you thinking about?” Sasuke wonders, straightening his back and puffing out his chest as his older brother starts to wash his clavicle, his chest, his left shoulder.

Itachi rubs the bar of soap along the narrow curve of his sternum down to his belly button until there’s a thick lather on his skin. He’s crouched on one knee.

“You, Sasuke.” He admits lowly, a hint of a smirk playing along his lips as he washes his brother’s chest and the smooth planes of his stomach. Some hairs waywardly slide forwards along his face, framing the pronounced structure of his jaw and the point of his chin.

Sasuke hauls a hand through his wet hair and smiles; he tilts his head back to expose the pretty-pale neck Itachi once curled his fist around, stares with half-lidded eyes at the dark wooden paneling of the ceiling, arches his spine inwards as if skittish fingertips would be trailing down the vertebrae—and with a weary gaze Itachi observes the column of his brother’s throat, silently marveling over how Sasuke still stole  _him_  away from the war he was fighting against, fighting  _in._ Bright artificial light envelops them, makes the water drops like pearls on Sasuke’s naked skin, brushed away by the coarse washing cloth.

“How I wanted you to win the war and you blew all my expectations out of the water.” He murmurs with that silken-touch of sincerity to his voice, dipping the washing cloth to the handles of his hips.  _You saved me_.

Sasuke spreads his legs, gives him easier access to his flaccid cock and his  _lily_ white thighs, but the tremor that sneaks around his ankle doesn’t escape Itachi’s notice and neither does the tightening of his fingers around the edges of the plastic seat. “I never  _wanted_  to win any wars, big brother.” It isn’t a confession, but it sounds like something that could’ve been whispered, hot-pressed against a confidante’s ear.

Calmly, he takes it upon himself to wash the boy’s pubic bone, his flaccid cock, his balls, his inner thighs—Sasuke raises himself up a bit and Itachi washes him between his ass cheeks too, then he moves on to his legs, his calves, his slender ankles all the way down until he himself is sitting on both of his knees in the soapy water to wash his brother’s feet. Sasuke’s left ankle feels slippery, nestled in the vertex of his thumb and index finger as he holds him up there to clean the soles of his feet. Nobody mentions how Sasuke has become half-hard again, it’s nothing but an instinctual reaction to the hands-on contact, to his big brother’s scent.

When Itachi’s done, he picks up the bar of soap and walks back to the sink, his footsteps making a soft _slosh-slosh_  sound, he dumps the washing cloth by the rest of the clothes and places the soap back where it belongs on the shelf. His slacks are rather wet too by now—dark spots nuancing the shape of his kneecaps, but he doesn’t really care. First he’s going to rinse his little brother off and then he’ll change, maybe turn in for a quick nap as well while dinner is being prepared. His throat’s still itchy from the inside and if Itachi could shove his fingers down and scratch the inner walls off to get rid of the sensation he would, but it’s not feasible and he wouldn’t want his fingertips stained with all this darkness that festers down there. He unclicks the retractable showerhead, turns on the tap, holds his right hand under the spray to check the temperature: his eyes never leave Sasuke’s naked frame.

“Tell me, Sasuke.” Itachi begins as he gently pushes his little brother’s head downwards and rinses his hair, “If I could’ve done things differently, what then? Would you want the same things you want now?” He doesn’t expound on  _differently_ , because that word has implications he has explored a thousand of times before; but the sheer thought of  _losing_  Sasuke closed off every other track immediately. Itachi _knows_  in every crevice of his mind that he didn’t do the right thing, but he’s sure that he made the right choice.

His right hand is  _not_  shaking, just trembling through Sasuke’s hair, combing out the water.

Slowly, his little brother opens his eyes, frowns and responds matter-of-fact, “You couldn’t, because otherwise you would have done so.”

Itachi caresses his temple, follows the framework of his face to the outline of his neck and the spray of water comes quickly after. He whispers, “You are everything to me.”

There’s no answer, but his little brother lets go of the edges of the seat and wraps his arms around his hips, presses his wet face into his crotch and holds himself there; close and warm. Itachi smiles down upon him, mindful of the showerhead in his hand and allows himself to be hugged. The press of Sasuke’s nose, mouth against his thigh makes it a bit more difficult to breathe, but he keeps himself steady.

“Let me finish, little brother. You’ll cool off.” His chiding is half-hearted, soft-spoken; a raspy whisper almost entirely interwoven in the heavy loud spray of the showerhead. His free hand comes down to rest atop the wet crown of his head.

Sasuke groans disgruntled but reluctantly sits back; he’s affected by what his older brother confessed, even with Itachi’s weakened eyes it’s clear to see how his shoulders shake, how his breath comes out uneven, the rattling of his ribs inside his cooling naked body. A heart that swells up-up-up and presses the cage outwards. Itachi rinses him off, his fingertips eagerly pursue the water sliding down the flat planes of his brother’s tummy. He helps him dry off afterwards, the steam still settled around them as the last of the water and foam disappears down the drain. A soft kiss is placed upon the base of his little brother’s neck, then Itachi towel-dries that flattened mop of black hair. They both dress in companionable silence and he also leaves his wet trousers to soak in the washbasin before he leaves.

With wet fingertips he flips the light switch, but doesn’t close the door behind him.

.

Dinner passes without much decorum: the kitchen smells predominantly of buckwheat noodles and grilled spring onion but there’s something soft and faint mixed in between there, not just the ever-presence of the sea, but elderberries and lime. Dead-center on the table; there’s a line of tea lights, their flames flickering whenever someone moves by, reflecting on Itachi’s reading glasses.

Sasuke’s shredded the daikon radishes, stuffed them together with a generous amount of honey in the only iron-cast pot with a lid and put it away on the kitchen counter. In the meantime, he’s made sure his older brother had enough to eat either way, he had focused on preparing a lot of easy and quick vegetable dishes. All around the tea lights were bowls with grated carrot, stir-fried soy beans, lotus root and bamboo shoots, and the orange light of the teeny-tiny fires makes them appeal even more to his appetite. Sasuke’s black-lacquered chopsticks glimmer too, whenever he snatches a slice from the cream-ceramic bowls. It reminds Itachi so much of  _before_ , when they were children waiting for father to come home while the smell of dinner pervades the entire inside of the kitchen.

It’s dusk when they head towards the village and the whole sky is a blur of peach pinks and apricots and even a touch of plum in the distance, a vanguard for the night. There are no clear _cut_  distinctions, only an overlap like a coastline; seamless from one’s perspective, jagged from another one. Honeysweet sticks to his palate, thick and cloying molasses with a tinge of radish trapped on the tip of his tongue; he can breathe and it’s sea salt, he can breathe and it’s the scent of his little brother, earthen and coppery. They crush gravel underneath the soles of their sandals; just a quiet crunching sound against the backdrop of the waves and the cicadas’ songs. They’re holding hands as they walk on the dirt road.

Red lanterns are settled high against the walls of the fishermen houses and the few stores, and the two brothers catch the backside of the torchbearers as they pass through the main street. They’ve left the sun behind them at the horizon when they left the cabin and there’s only night’s dark blues ahead, casting darkness over the thatched rooftops. The candles burn orange in their lampshades, illuminating only small patches of the street. Sasuke brushes his pale cheek against his upper-arm; their shadows are one and as dark umber on the cobblestones. There’s a dull  _clack_  when the torchbearers slot another lit lantern to the wall; it wobbles and waddles unevenly, bumping against the wall a few times, sloshing its light all over the ground.

They can hear the elders laughing loudly inside the manor; approving murmurs and happy chattering, the occasional  _quit your bellyaching you old goose_. Itachi knocks a few times on the door and waits for the manor to grow quiet; as if a fog has descended down the street and swallowed every noise inside of it aside from that of the torchbearers raising another lantern to the wall. The most gravelly of voices answers a solemn  _enter_. He can feel Sasuke’s presence against his back, a consolation in shades of gray and black. The inside of the manor remains muted; aged and wrinkled faces looking up at them, the lady of the medicine shop seated at the far end on a cushion, her thin white hair pinned back tightly in a bun, at the head of the table sits a relic of several generations past in an ochre  _hakama_. Sasuke tenses at his side when the old man directs his milk-white gaze on the doorway where they stand; a fight-or-flight reflex.

It’s the old lady who insists for them to take a seat after they’ve taken off their sandals and suddenly the village elders are fussing all around them, treating them as the grandchildren they haven’t seen in a while. Tea and sweets are being brought to them— _Eat, eat, drink, drink._ They’re being prodded by questions and inquiries and the demand that they call the women  _auntie_  for they are part of the community now, of the family one even dares utter. Itachi smiles indulgently at their words and their nodding and their bowing, while his little brother seems overwhelmed and prefers to remain somewhat stuck in a sullen silence. He moves to sit closer to him. After a while the blind man in his position as the village head grants them officious permission to remain in the cabin near the sea as long as they make themselves useful, and as if he’s bartering in a trade, he’s rocking back and forth on his cushion gesturing with his suntanned hands.

Eventually they take their leave again, offering to stakeout at the docks for the night to ward off potential bandits. It doesn’t surprise him to see how Sasuke’s demeanor changes from demure to excited; the prospect of fighting together with his older brother lights up his face and it reminds Itachi of when he was still a young child begging him for shuriken-throwing practice, for innocent sparring sessions, for a tag-along to hunt a wild boar. The two head out towards the small docks outside of town, walking past the scattered patches of peanut plants; it’s an open space and the night sky spreads out above them. He takes his reading glasses off and stuffs them into the pocket of his slacks.

And they wait huddled together amidst the dunes, discussing a plan of attack—Itachi suggests a simple genjutsu would be enough to scare the bandits off, in all likeliness they’re not practiced  _shinobi_  and even so, it’s preferable to a messy hand-to-hand fight, but Sasuke doesn’t want him to overexert himself, besides he explains, he’s brimming with up-pent energy from earlier. The boats are strung along and drag up and down the coastline, helpless to the motion of the waves. White sand sticks to their trousers and in their sandals, scours along their bare feet whenever they move. Two hours later gruff voices can be heard over the sound of the sea, they’re coming closer together with the shambling of feet through the sand. There are no chakra levels to be discerned and Itachi heavily doubts they’re good enough to hide them entirely. Next to him, Sasuke rolls his neck and prepares to get up.

_Let me handle this, aniki.—_ his voice not above a whisper, his movements fluid as he leaps up from their hiding spot, effectively startling the ragtag team of bandits. Itachi shakes his head at how completely familiar this feels:  _an overconfident boy with a bow, a boar, and a bit of a rampage._ Still, not one to be outdone he rises from the dunes as well and calmly walks to stand aside his little brother, smirking slightly. He feels the sea breeze pressing against his back and hears the splashing of the boats, the bandits gauge the both of them up and raise their makeshift weapons threateningly. Sasuke scoffs at them, almost as if he’s insulted at the fact that they dare challenging them. He doesn’t need to look at his brother to know that he had just activated his sharingan, the bandits going rigid and stifling gasps are telltale signs on their own.

It takes maybe a few minutes to get them to bolt away in fright. Itachi chuckles at how much of a showoff his little brother can be.  _for you, all for you._ The thought weaseled its way into his mind and he finds himself staring at Sasuke and his balled fists and how pale his skin looks in the moonlight; a sight for sore eyes. His brows furrow together, an involuntary reflex, the white noise becomes just that, something inconsequential on the backdrop, something easily drowned out by the shuffling of his feet across the small distance between him and his little brother. He reaches for him, winds his arms around him and holds him against his chest, tucks him away under his chin, safely.

Everything happens fast afterwards, when Sasuke presses a kiss to the  _pulse-point_ on his neck and he reciprocates by cradling his jaw, but it’s not  _enough_ , it’s plain to see, easy to feel in how his little brother behaves in his arms. Itachi could barely envisage them kissing yesterday evening, but the darkness bubbles up to the back of his throat, effervescent and palpable and he caves like he always does when it comes to Sasuke.  _There’s no other version of how this goes_. Sasuke shoves his coat open and cups his cock through his trousers and nips at Itachi’s neck, hungrily, with sharp-starved teeth. He trembles in response, curves his taller frame over his little brother and allows the sensations to overtake him; a hand down his pants, touching, groping,  _searching_  and all of a sudden Sasuke’s on his knees in the sand before him.

_“I want to do things to you.”_

It’s a sloppy blowjob, the eagerness there in how easily he chokes on Itachi’s cock, in how he accidentally scrapes his teeth along the shaft, how he settles his hands on exposed hipbones and tries to work his tongue underneath the shaft. But Itachi can’t help but hiss and groan and buck deeper into that warm painful heat. His sickened lungs are constricted, bursting apart along the fracture lines, but his breathing is fast, _hard_. Pressure builds inside of his abdomen and it’ll be over way too fast for this to have actually been enjoyable, but his toes curl in his sandals and his fingers curl into the hair at the back of Sasuke’s head. His mouth is stuck on the ‘ _o’_ , his chest heaving and sinking when the needle-pricks of pleasure jab away at his inner thighs and he gets caught up in a  _hotwhitewarmth_ without warning. He wants to pull Sasuke’s head away, but the movement doesn’t go off without a hitch and in all of his stuttering some of his cum hits his little brother on his bottom lip, his chin and his jaw.

As the aftermath of his orgasm rakes his insides raw, Sasuke calmly brushes the spunk off his chin and swipes it off on the hemline of his shirt. His fingers are shaking; the energy not having worn off in the slightest. And Itachi blinks, slow, owlish and drags his pants back up and murmurs to his little brother that they have to go home  _now_. There’s huskiness in his hoarse voice, a neediness so loud it silences the sounds of the sea and the tiny boats entirely and Sasuke raises his head and looks at him as if he is a sunset bleeding open against the sky.

.

Adrenalin still courses through his veins as he shoves his little brother against the entryway of their cabin and he tastes his own salty spunk on Sasuke’s mouth, swipes his tongue along a plump lower lip and fumbles to get his hands underneath his shirt and onto his naked soft skin. His ponytail is messy and some strands are stuck to the underside of his jaw and to his throat. Sasuke pushes back eagerly, grinds their hips together and Itachi, still sensitive from his previous orgasm groans lowly into his brother’s mouth. His fingers press down onto Sasuke’s bare flanks and he imagines the red prints on the white skin and bucks up and against him.

“Please..” His little brother whimpers against his mouth, hands on his hips. Itachi can feel his glasses sliding down the slope of his sweaty nose. It doesn’t need to be said what he’s begging for, it’s clear in how urgently he tries to get closer to Itachi, tries to press himself all up against him, bracketed between his brother’s body and the wall.

He’s panting, lips slick from the kissing and fingers trembling underneath Sasuke’s shirt. His little brother isn’t doing much better, catching his breath while his gaze remains vastly pinned to Itachi’s mouth; and his own mouth is  _beestung_ red and his cheeks flushed and the side of his neck as well. Itachi wants to soak up every little detail because  _this_ is the boy he broke his own heart for, to make it bigger, to make it contain all the love he held for him. He rubs his hands up and down Sasuke’s sides, palms printed into the skin.

“I don’t want to wait anymore.” Sasuke murmurs, looking up at him defiantly—and he remembers a blank hallway, a trickle of heat running down his spine when his little brother glared at him with a sharingan; and so  _much **want**  it had to be pitch black, it had to be dark and unsavory._

Hands come to pull at his sweatshirt, trying to get it over and off of him, but it’s difficult when he won’t budge. Sasuke groans and surges up to kiss him again, hot and wet and desperate. He reciprocates open-mouthed, grinding their erections together and keeping his little brother flush against the wall. Something tugs at the back of his mind: their shoved-together futons, his little brother spread out on the mattress, his shadow falling over the pallor of naked skin. He brushes his nose along the side of Sasuke’s head, the kiss broken.

“Come.” His whisper hot against the sensitive shell of Sasuke’s ear, his hands gone from his sides and instead dragging him alongside of himself, cabin inwards.

Once inside their bedroom, Itachi starts to undress his little brother, helps him out of his slacks, pulls his underwear down and watches how Sasuke stumbles about to kick them off and away. The hemline of his shirt breezes over his hard cock and around his well-defined hipbones. He pulls the shirt off too and slowly kisses the column of his throat, the hollow in between his collar bones, over his sternum in between his curved ribs and stops at his navel, looking up at Sasuke’s face. He’s biting his bottom lip, settles his hands on Itachi’s shoulders but doesn’t dare to push him downwards to his cock yet.

“Lie down and wait.” Itachi coaxes gently as he stands back up at full height again.

He waits until Sasuke settles down on his back with his legs slightly spread; he pushes himself up on his elbows and stares expectantly at him, anticipating his next move with a slightly-open mouth. Itachi takes it slow, takes off his glasses and carefully puts them down on the floor, takes off his shirt but makes a bit of a show out of it, unties his hair and lets the elastic slip from his fingers. He tries not to feel self-conscious about how skinny his disease left him, but Sasuke surges upwards into a sitting position and reaches for him. Black-fire burns in those expressive eyes.

It’s enough for Itachi to hook his thumbs under the elastic band of his trousers, slowly pushes them down to reveal his underwear and lets them fall along his pale thighs, along his knees and to his ankles, and then he steps out of them completely. His feet make the floorboards  _thunk_  softly. His long hair fans his shoulder blades and clings to his clavicle as he straightens his back and stands still in front of the foot of the shoved-together futons.

“Wait, Sasuke.” It’s an admonishment meant to stifle any disobedience. He turns towards the open doorway of their bedroom and after shooting one more meaningful—and  _heated_  glance at the outline of his little brother’s pale naked body against the white sheets, he disappears into the darkness.

It’s difficult to maneuver without his glasses; manageable because he’s gotten accustomed to his surroundings over the time they’ve spent here, but sometimes the spots in front of his eyes get worse, the keenness of his sight hampers and smudges up the defined line of Sasuke’s jaw, the curve of his mouth… He walks into the kitchen, close to the table and up to the cabinet where they keep their few medical supplies. Once he’s found the small jar of vaseline behind the rolls of bandages and anti-infectives, he returns to the bedroom. There’s a sense of uneasiness unfurling in his stomach, because this is a  _first_  in all its technicality— He swallows down some spittle, but it seems to do more damage than good to his sensitive throat.

Sasuke’s upright on the futon, his arms around his knees as he glances at him from the corners of his eyes. His profile is precise in  _clair-obscure_ , his pale skin contrasted against the beige tint of the walls around him. Itachi proffers a delicate smile and deliberately saunters over to the futon, sinks down into the mattress on his  _too-pointy, too-sharp_  knees and drops the jar of vaseline in front of Sasuke’s bare feet, an offering. His hands come upon his little brother’s shoulders as he leans in to kiss him; he aims for his mouth but accidentally kisses the corner of it, less lip more cheek but Sasuke sets him straight as he returns the gesture and soon enough in their fervor they end up with Sasuke on his back and Itachi leaning over him, keeping him down.

“Spread your legs for me.” He whispers, no,  _mouths_  the words against Sasuke’s jawline. “I need to make sure you’re not going to get hurt.”

His younger brother drags his gaze up to Itachi’s eyes and mutters, “I can take it, com’on.. _Itachi_ …” It’s an exhale, his name that is, puffed out between two spittle-slick lips.

It’s enough to make him swipe his tongue along the seal of his mouth himself, but he holds firm and shakes his head and says, “Trust me.”

He snatches the jar off the mattress and unscrews the smooth round cap and positions himself upright between Sasuke’s legs. Delves two fingers into the white vaseline and slicks them sufficiently, then he gingerly, almost whimsically draws his fingertips along his crack up to his balls and back down again. His little brother shifts around a bit, uncomfortable with the foreign feeling.

_“Trust me_.”

Sasuke squirms when he pushes his index finger to the knuckle inside of him and throws his head back in abandon when he pushes in  _deeper_ ; back of his head making a dull sounding plop sound against the mattress and he groans  _low-down_  his throat and he patters  _yes_  like it’s a litany missing its ending. _Always._ His eyes are screwed shut, his fists fisting the sheets until his knuckles are as pale as them. Itachi ghosts shivering fingertips over the base of his cock all the way over the shaft to the head, feather _light_   _feverish_ presses and caresses. His mouth falls open, jaw unhinged and the dark inside exposed bracketed only by his pale-pink lips and his white teeth.

Once Itachi feels his little brother has adjusted accordingly, he adds his middle finger and carefully starts to scissor him; spurred on by Sasuke’s hissing and panting and that one throaty moan coming from deep-down his belly, he acts on instinct, using his little brother’s reactions as landmarks as he maps out what to do and how to do it. He begins to jerk off Sasuke’s cock when the pain of being spread open threatens to overtake him and he asks him if he likes it, if he’s doing it right,  _tell me when it hurts._ Sasuke writhes and bucks his hips up into the warmth of his big brother’s palm and groans lowly. His thighs tremble when he cums all over Itachi’s hand and spurts over his own abdomen.

“You’re doing good.  _Sssh,_ it’s okay, Sasuke. It’s okay.” His voice is soaked through with love and he blinks slowly, suddenly grabbed by the fact that he couldn’t catch every small detail, every little involuntary expression that passed over his little brother’s face.

Itachi removes his fingers and lathers some more vaseline on them and shoves both of them back in, mindful of his little brother’s discomfort; and then he curls them inside, making Sasuke keen and whine somewhere from the back of his throat.

“ _Itachi_.” His little brother murmurs, rising up from the mattress a bit in response to being scissored open again, what a lovely way to  _burn_ , “I’m ready.. I’m ready, okay. I can handle it..” He sucks his lower lip in between his teeth when his big brother lowers himself over his chest and presses a kiss to his right nipple. “ _Fuck. I’m **ready,** please._”

— _his sharingan bleeds through the dark of his eyes almost entirely out of its own volition,_ he sees everything with painstaking clarity and he settles back, slowly dragging his fingers out of Sasuke’s asshole and rubs the remainder of the vaseline in the small jar all over his own cock and resettles himself close and takes Sasuke’s left knee in his hand and motions for his little brother to shift his pelvis so he has better access. Itachi takes a deep breath and it  _burns_  in his lungs, like he rekindled a fire that had been put out. His hand trails over the length of an upper leg and back to the kneecap almost absentmindedly. The awareness of his own hair plastered to his skin is subconscious.

He pushes only the head of his cock into him and then much slower, the rest of his cock, committing every little sigh, every little gasp—his own, Sasuke’s, the punctuated silence between them of their bedroom to his memory. And then he’s filled him to the hilt, his hand resting back on his little brother’s pronounced hipbone. They stare at each other, gazes flitting between eyes and flared nostrils and flushed cheeks and half-open mouths until Sasuke mouths  _move_  to him and he does, but with the sense of precariousness he’s maintained the entire evening. He feels Sasuke wrap his legs around his waist and feels Sasuke’s hard cock caught between them and he leans over him, puts his other hand to his little brother’s left wrist and puts his mouth to his adam’s apple.

_Itachi’s never felt lighter in his life._ His heart soars up in his throat and catches there, stuck as he drags his mouth along Sasuke’s throat to his jaw and to his mouth and kisses him  _hard_ , fierce as he thrusts into him. Every nerve ending in his body is electric, as if Sasuke’s fingertips pressed a chain of  _chidori_ to his skin and let it ignite there; he can feel the sweaty insides of his little brother’s knees sliding over his flanks, can feel his hair stuck to his back and his neck and his cheeks. His little brother brings his free hand up to the dip of his big brother’s spine.

He won’t last long,  _of course not_ , too oversensitive from that blowjob, not nearly enough endurance, his little brother’s body too responsive, too hot, too  _everything_  and the heat stacks up and up and up in his abdomen. His toes curl reflexively and his balls clench and his inner thighs shake and his right eye starts  _bleeding_  as he tries to capture Sasuke on his retina entirely before he spills his cum inside of him. Itachi slouches over his little brother for a moment, trapping his cock between them, but he comes to his senses soon enough when the pain of using his sharingan flares up.

“I’m  _so_ sorry.” Itachi mutters quietly, hiding his bleeding eye behind the palm of his hand and pulling his limp cock out of Sasuke’s ass. 

Sasuke doesn’t really get what exactly his big brother’s apologizing for, especially not after what they’ve done together and how amazing it was to him, but he doesn’t put much thought into it when he sees the blood sliding down Itachi’s cheek. “I’m going to make you  _some_ —“

“No.. don’t move, yet.” His murmur sounds unreasonably loud in their small bedroom, especially in comparison with the sea outside. “ _Sasuke_. It’s okay.”

“You’re  _bleeding._ ”

His little brother scrambles into a sitting position and he’s gorgeous; littered with red flushed spots where Itachi delved his fingers into, pressed his mouth to— _hard and needy_. His big black eyes stare up at him in worry. Itachi smiles at him and caresses his cheek with his unbloodied hand.

“I believe we have more pressing matters.” He says so breathlessly as he motions to his little brother’s cock, flush against his pubic bone. “Wouldn’t you agree?” Emphasizes the  _agree_ with the tip of his index finger trailing down the slight curve of Sasuke’s sternum and down the planes of his flat belly.

“ _Aniki.”_ Sasuke grinds out between gritted teeth as a hand palms his cock. He doesn’t want his big brother in pain but the friction is  _so good_  and he’s so hypersensitive and spent and a few jerks will be enough to make him  _cum_  again.

His shoulders curve inwards and he can feel a wave of shivers crashing over the skin of his abdomen. “ _Aniki._ ” It comes out in a whine when Itachi fondles his balls with slick fingertips.

“ _It’s okay, it’s okay—_ “ Itachi encourages as he strokes his cock and rubs the slit with the plush pad of his thumb and grunts lowly in pain. His vision has returned to its weakened state,  _frayed at the edges_ , and his little brother’s face once again softens, smoothens out.

Sasuke rakes his teeth over his lower lip, throws his head back as the orgasm hits him and has to place both his palms flatly on the mattress to support himself as his spunk squirts  _again_  over Itachi’s hand and over his own abdomen. He’s sticky and sore and so  _so_ spent, but as the high settles back down on the floor around him, he takes in the sight of his older brother, who slowly brings his hand down from his bleeding eye. His pupils are back to black.

“What tea do you want, big brother?” His voice is as roughened up as his appearance, smudged red in a way. His breathing is still too harsh, too quick to be normal.

Itachi tilts his head to the right at the question; he looks a mess with his hair plastered all to his throat and against the juncture of neck and shoulder, and against his clavicle; the lower eyelid of his right eye is swollen and the blood has dried rust-brownish against his paled skin. He tries to smile and dissuade his little brother from getting up, insisting that he’s fine.

“Just let me rest for a while,  _here_ , with you.”

.


End file.
